Eye of The Tiger
by Aurontalia
Summary: Another one-shot, this time about Draco.


Eye of the Tiger

Synopsis: This one is about Malfoy beating Harry at Quidditch. Like many people who fell madly in love with Cassandra Claire's version of Draco, I always thought he should win, just once, and so in my universe he shall. As usual, this is the sixth year, multiple things have not occurred as per canon, and when Harry plays Draco, Draco wins. Fairly. Ha. As a note, Draco has father issues, and in general tends to think of Snape of more of a father figure than Lucius.

Draco stood on the Quiddicth pitch. It was mid September and the sun shone down. The ground was hard and broken up in random patterns from the recent rain. It was the first match of the season. Slytherin versus Griffindor. The sixth year match, and it felt like, his last chance to win. He had to win.

_"Rising up, back on the street"_

The game started and the brooms rose into the air. Draco barely noticed the other players, merely scanning for the snitch. He paid no attention to Potter. He'd spent the summer training with the Chinese Quidditch team while his father set up several business transactions.

_"Did my time, took my chances"_

The Chinese team had been unlike any team he'd ever trained with. In Britain, he'd been taught to act with the team, and to always shadow the other Seeker. He'd always hated it as a kid, hated how it implied that he couldn't find the snitch on his own, but he'd come to appreciate how useful it could be to shadow someone.

_"Went the distance, now I'm back on my feet"_

The training had been the hardest he'd ever under gone. They'd made him run up and down mountains with the rest of the team, lift weights, and practice chasing bats and fire flies at night. The coach had even had him try to find the snitch all alone and blindfolded in a silent room, on the sound of its wings alone. Later he'd had to try it on broomstick.

_"Just a man and his will to survive"_

China had taught him to act alone, to not rely on the other Seeker's reflexes (even if they were Potter), to ignore everything but the snitch. He'd lost every match against the various Chinese Seekers. Every single time they either found the snitch first, or played tricks, or flew faster despite their old brooms. He'd complained and been told to shut up, though in much more polite language. To concentrate not on winning, but rather on not losing. It had been the best time of his life.

_"So many times, it happens too fast"_

When he was younger , his father had told him once that life happened too fast, blink once and everything was gone. That was like how Hogwarts had been for him. His dismal first and second year marks, his third and fourth year marks slowly rising and then staying stuck under the Mudblood Granger in second place.

_"You change your passion for glory, Don't lose your grip on the dreams of the past"_

He'd wanted once to be the best in the school. Quidditch captain. Head Boy. Prince of Slytherin. Best marks in the school. In some ways he had those things, from Slytherin it had been easy to gain control. But Prince of Slythering wasn't enough. _Potter _was _everyone's_ darling, even some of the Slytherin girls. Sometimes he thought only he and Snape really hated Potter properly.

_"You must fight just to keep them alive"_

Now things were starting to go right. He was level with the Mudblood in classes. He was Quidditch captain for Slytherin. Head Boy would come next year, since the only other real possibilities were Potter and Granger, and the Patil girl from Ravenclaw, and even Dumbledore wouldn't be biased as to give them two Griffindore Heads, especially with Potter's track record, and the Mudblood would beat Patil in a second. Everything would be his.

_"It's the eye of the tiger, it's the cream of the fight"_

He simply had to win this game. They'd have the House Cup anyway this year, since Potter would no doubt lose as many points for his house as he gained this year, and what with the new DADA teacher not all the teachers were so biased in favor of the Griffindores this year.

_"Risin' up to the challenge of our rival"_

Since the first day, Potter had been his rival. Not the first day of school, as one might expect, but rather since he was old enough to know the story of "The Boy Who Lived." His father had talked about him a hushed voice at times, sometimes a hated hiss of breath, other times a mere sigh. Draco could remember sneaking around his father's office when he was younger, and staying to evesdrop on his conversations with some of his old friends. He still had the image of the first time he'd really understood what his father was talking about in his head. He'd only been about five then, small and still young enough to be picked up, with a mop of blond hair loose around his face, dressed in one of his little blue suits, his mother's favorite for him at that age.

So Draco had had it in his head that he had to beat Potter to be worth anything to his father. He hadn't had a clear idea in his head, except that by beating Potter his father might finally notice him as something other than furniture. He'd tried at first to be Potter's friend, to neutralize things a bit, but had been rejected and so turned to beating him. Or trying to.

_"And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night"_

Despite the fact that Potter had won every other game, winning just once would be enough for Draco. It was like with professional Quidditch players; no one was really looking at them until their last few years of school. Before he'd been playing with British standards of play, not Chinese ones, and it was the new training that was going to win him the game. He might not be a natural at Quidditch like Potter, but perseverance and hard work would win out when talent failed and grew stale.

_"And he's watchin' us all in the eye of the tiger"_

And out there on the pitch, everyone would see him beat Potter, once and for all. Fairly too, so no one could say he'd stolen his victory. That was another thing the Chinese had taught him; not to let yourself be caught, one thing he had needed to learn, having been far too vocal in past times.

_"Face to face, out in the heat"_

A bight flash caught his eye and Draco began sneaking towards it, nothing abrupt or obvious in his movements, he was just going to move a little bit this way, ho hum. He caught Potter's eye, blank and dull in the heat, the green like moss, unawake and unaware. Draco was grinning on the inside. Sweat was trickling down Potter's forehead and was about to fall into his eyes. Draco had trained in conditions worse than this in China, and felt cool and composed; he knew exactly what he was going to do.

_"Hangin' tough, stayin' hungry"_

He couldn't let the game go so fast mind. He kept close to the snitch during the game, keeping it in the corner of his vision for the entire game. He knew catching it now would win them the match, but not with a high score, and that it would Griffindore too much of a chance to catch up. Considering how the other houses hated Slytherin, they'd probably let the Griffindore's win every game.

_"They stack the odds 'til we take to the street"_

This was the worst part of the game, the part that made him sweat. The waiting and the watching and the playing to make sure the score stayed up, but also that Potter stayed away from the snitch. He couldn't let Potter get a chance to win. Even the slightest slip up and he might lose.

_"For we kill with the skill to survive"_

Hours later, a break was called, and Draco still had not caught the snitch. He could still see it, hovering up by the Griffindore's goal posts. The score was up, and the game had blown out about half an hour ago, the players too tired to really play their best. It was time to catch the snitch. He gave a slight pep talk, something generic, about how they'd win and show the school, how they were almost there, and to just hang on. Brodderick snorted at one point, obviously doubting Draco and he made a mental note to deal with him later. It was time the Slytherins shaped up.

_"Risin' up, straight to the top"_

The whistle was blown and they rose back into the air as one, Draco sidling alone closer and closer to where the snitch was. Then Potter spotted it when Draco was half way too it, Potter closer to the snitch on the Griffindore's side. Draco turned his broom and shot out at an angle, aiming not quite for the snitch, but rather for where he hoped it would go.

_"Have the guts, got the glory"_

If he missed-

But he wouldn't, he reminded himself, and the snitch reacted to Potter and dove up, right into Draco's flight path. Potter shot after Draco and collided with the tail of his broom, falling forward, his own broom out of control.

_"Went the distance, now I'm not gonna stop"_

Draco could relax now, and looked back to see an enraged Potter barely in control of his broom. He hadn't expected to lose. Down below the Slytherins werecheering in the stands. Even Snape looked proud, or rather smug, since Snape never really managed to look proud of anyone. His father was not there. No pale blue robes sat in the stands, no face that said Draco had still failed. This was his glory, his victory alone.

_" Just a man and his will to survive"_

I know, this only vaguely makes sense. There are literally 25-50 little half-written song-fics... and once they're published it'll make sense. Damn me and my non-linear writing!


End file.
